


midnight sun

by coldguts



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Pining, and unhappiness, basically just reassuring that the T warning is accurate, but all in a very relationship centered way, girls !!, idk why this is in second person i dont know how to write i just started and didnt stop, is this angst? i think so. i mean it's a lot of not-being-together, it's also mostly character analysis and mostly edelgard analysis at that, it's not gonna be that long but it'll span many years. from childhood to adulthood, sorry it opens with making out and implied stuff but thats as far as it'll go, this is like. my headcanon edelthea timeline i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldguts/pseuds/coldguts
Summary: “Edie? …Should I stop?”Your mouth is suddenly very dry without hers on it, and it takes you a moment to remember how to speak.You know this is a bad idea. You also know you want more, you’ve wanted more for longer than you can even remember. But you are all too aware of the damage that could be done to a soul as bright hers, if you were to let her in. How your past, your present, your future, can and will harm her.But your mind is not in control anymore.So your heart replies for you, and it says “No.”----A vague look at a route where even though Byleth isn't in Black Eagles, Edelgard's story does not end in tragedy. Written from Edie's POV.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 17
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Fire Emblem fic .... nervous !
> 
> Edelthea has slowly grown into my favourite pairing in the whole game this past year, it's honestly kinda pathetic how emotional it makes me :p I don't really think I have the writing chops to do justice to how much gravitas I see their relationship having as I'm still a very inexperienced writer, but no harm in writing for some good practice :)
> 
> Also I honestly haven't touched the game since I played my 3rd route back in the winter so if i get things wrong, bear with me lol. Mostly going from memory, and some light research to refresh myself.

Your name is Edelgard von Hresvelg, leader of the Black Eagles of Garreg Mach, heir to the Adrestian Empire, and you are currently being undressed by an orphan.

It's the Pegasus Moon and the wind is howling, and the the tree outside your window is tapping its branches against the sill and big things are coming, you know they’re coming, you _are_ what’s coming and- 

And her fingers are cold. 

They move to cradle the back of your neck and she gently brings you down so your head is against her pillow. She leans in, and she’s kissing you again.

“Dorothea,” someone murmurs- you realize it was you as she pulls back.

Suddenly your view is Dorothea Arnault, her chestnut brown hair illuminated like a halo around her face by the lantern positioned directly behind her. Beautiful, kind, clever Dorothea Arnault. 

You dreamt about this moment last week when she slept over in your room and the two of you sat in your nightgowns until the sun rose, talking, and grinning, and laughing, surrounded by food stolen from the dining hall.

You dreamt about it the night of the ball, as you attempted to keep to yourself on the sidelines of the crowd until Dorothea Arnault came barrelling over like a hurricane, a tropical storm adorned with gold and red and black, and bright green eyes, that swept you onto the dance floor. You let her lead, if not just to enjoy the feeling of her hand on the small of your back.

You dreamt about it as the two of you fell into a pattern in the dining hall of saving the two seats at the end of the house table for yourselves every evening. You thought about it through those warm summer afternoons, sitting in the gardens together, trying to decipher Manuela’s more nonsensical assignments. You imagined it those weeks you were put on sky watch together, racing through the clouds around the monastery, already trying to piece together an excuse for Hubert for when he would inevitably question you on why this was an appropriate use of your time. 

You may have even considered it your first day at Garreg Mach. Your very first memory of Dorothea, of running into her standing underneath the gazebo in the midst of charming some inconsequential noble boy as you were making the rounds introducing yourself to all the students, a warm spring wind blowing her hair in every direction.

And suddenly it wasn’t a dream anymore. Somehow you arrived to this place and time, lying on your back in her bed in the lower dorms, and the top of your nightgown is unbuttoned, and she's leaning back, legs straddled around your hips, palms planted on either side of your shoulders, her eyebrows furrowing themselves together.

When was the last time you’d ever been this close to a person, physically? You certainly don’t think you’ve even felt Hubert’s skin once. Was it your parents then, when the world was safe enough for you to curl up in your mother’s lap? Had it really been that long?

“Edie? …Should I stop?”

Your mouth is suddenly very dry without hers on it, and it takes you a moment to remember how to speak.

You know this is a bad idea. You also know you want more, you’ve wanted more for longer than you can even remember. But you are all too aware of the damage that could be done to a soul as bright hers, if you were to let her in. How your past, your present, your future, can and _will_ harm her.

But your mind is not in control anymore.

So your heart replies for you, and it says “No.”

Is the thump inside your chest going that fast because of how you much want this? Is it desire? Is it fear? Is it a preemptive regret?

You decide to leave those questions unanswered and wrap your hands around her neck, pulling her back in. For now, all that matters is the taste of Dorothea Arnault.

————

You know you’re a fool, a broken folly of the human experience, but it’s never been so apparent to you as when you wake up next to her.

The air is freezing cold as you ease yourself out of bed, careful to tread lightly as not to wake her. You curse yourself for wearing her cloak here in the first place instead of yours. There’s snow accumulating outside, and the hallway journey back to your own room will be like walking barefoot on ice.

You’ve done a bad thing. The world is about to end and you yourself are the harbinger of that apocalypse, yet you let someone so pure, so good, close enough that now you fear she’ll be caught in the inevitable crossfire.

No. 

This was a mistake. You chose your path many moons ago. Others, like Hubert, made the hard decision to follow. But you cannot ask Dorothea to walk it with you. You don’t _deserve_ for Dorothea to walk it with you. You are Edelgard von Hresvelg. You are the Flame Emperor. She is a white silk slip, soft underneath your fingertips, and far too delicate for its own good. How could you bring something so flammable near the fire?

When Dorothea sees you in the dining hall the next morning, she smiles, giving you a wave and a wink. You take a pastry, and retreat to eat in your room. You know you’re being obvious, but maybe it’s for the better. After all, you cannot look her in the eye. 

Dorothea’s smile turns as cold as the midnight sun as her gaze follows you out the door, but it never falters.

————

You see her once more in the first week of the Lone Moon. The world should have started its slow ascent into spring by now, but the cold is more biting today than it has been all winter.

She’s leaned against the wall of the bridge leading to the church, bundled up in the set of winter-wear you had delivered from the capital for her in the fall, engaged in what is clearly an enjoyable exchange with Petra, and Claude and Hilda of the Golden Deer. The four of them are gesturing, and laughing, and talking over one another. You were always surprised how easily she could get along with people, regardless of house. 

You’re passing by with Hubert on your way to the noble’s dorms for an important meeting. It’s a somber time for two of you, knowing what’s to come in just a couple weeks. The days seem full of an uncomfortable, hyper energy buzzing in the air, as if the world was about to fall off a cliff visible only to you two. But when you see her in the corner of your gaze, your stomach drops, and your head feels both heavy and lightheaded at the same time. You fear it just might roll off your shoulders. What was it you were planning on discussing with Hubert? How could you ever be expected to remember when you know she saw you too?

Did you hurt her, when you left that morning? Does it even matter, if you would have hurt her more by staying?

You will always do what is necessary.

————

The night before you are to leave for Enbarr to forcefully ascend the throne seems stiller than most. The students of the academy sleep peacefully in their beds, and in yours you lie alone, wide awake. You know Hubert would scold you if he were here. Tomorrow is to be the biggest day of your life, you need all the rest you can get. But you feel like there are insects crawling through your veins where there should be blood, and you know there’s no use in even trying. 

You won’t sleep.

So something compels you.

Suddenly, you’re dashing down to the lower dorms, and knocking violently on Dorothea’s door, hand wildly shaking the doorknob.

She can’t stay here. She can’t witness this. You won’t allow her to be caught in the crossfire, you can’t be the _reason_ any harm comes to her, she needs to _leave_ she has to _go_ she has to be _safe_ and _away_ from you and-

With one big push the lock snaps and you fall through onto your hands and knees.

Once you’ve caught your breath, you look up, and find yourself staring into an empty, dark room. The bed is made, the desk is tidy. The vanity, normally covered in makeup, and jewellery strewn haphazardly, is bare. You throw open the closets- empty. The books and papers that are normally dumped all the floor are nowhere to be seen. It’s meticulous.

She’s gone.

You don’t know if you’re relieved or distressed. As you lay back in her bed, staring up at a ceiling as blank as the expression on your face, you almost feel as if a piece of you has disappeared with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you v much for reading if you made it to the end! This shouldn't go more than 4-5 chapters in total.


	2. Chapter 2

Your name is Edelgard von Hresvelg, and you have just turned the world on its head.

Hubert walks at your side as your footsteps echo through the now-empty halls of Garreg Mach, en-route to a strategy meeting. It’s been two months since the battle, and while you initially decided to headquarter in Enbarr, it soon became obvious that the Strike Force would be most at home in the monastery.

Hubert, Ferdinand, Caspar, Bernadetta, Linhardt, Jeritza. 

Petra chose to defect to the Leicester Alliance as it all went down that day. You understand why, and hold no hard feelings. You can’t imagine what it would have been like for her, coming from a country that had been ravaged by your predecessors, to have to participate in the conquering of new lands, even if the intention is different this time. Claude von Riegan and the others are good people too, you know they’ll take care of her.

You stole a few extra members for your team too, after all. You hadn’t known Felix Fraldarius well at first, thinking him to be a close friend of the Faerghus prince, but in the past month you’ve noted a depth to him you hadn’t seen before. Another battle going on inside him at all times, between his grief, the expectations placed on him, the shoes he thinks he has to fill, and who he truly knows himself to be. You suspect he’s found more hurt than support from his former nation, and you believe he’ll fit in better here as time goes on. 

Mercedes von Martritz, however, you’re still unsure about. A devout believer, her usual smiles and quips have been replaced by downcast stares, and you truly have no idea what drove her to join you in the first place. Was it a sense of obligation, seeing as she was born in Adrestia? She doesn’t seem like the type. She’s cut off all her hair, and spends most days in her quarters, as if she regrets her decision as well. You saw Jeritza reach out to her in the beginning and you’ve instructed him to keep an eye on her.

Lysithea von Ordelia was a given. You’d come to know her quite well over the course of your year together, even if she hailed from the Alliance, and you knew given the choice she would stand with you. She’s proven herself a fierce ally in your time together so far, and you know she’ll make a phenomenal leader someday.

Manuela (of course), Constance von Nuvelle, Shamir Nevrand. 

Catherine, the archbishop’s right hand woman, followed Shamir like a kicked puppy back to the monastery too, though you’re still more than half convinced she’s a spy for the Church. 

That’s everyone important, isn’t it?

Everyone of note?

_But still... where is Doroth-_

You cut that thought off with a shake of your head, though you notice your hands balling into fists of their own accord. The tap of your footsteps echoes more loudly in these halls than it did a moment ago, and you count them to keep your mind off other, more… frivolous things. 

You are the leader of the Adrestian Empire. You are the Flame Emperor. If things go your way, you will soon take hold of more than you can even imagine. You _will_ be the bringer of a new age. And you cannot allow yourself to be distracted by thoughts of something more.

You arrive in the cold strategy room and take your seat at the head of the table, consciously hyperfocusing your thoughts on Hubert rattling off your duties for the day.

————

One year since the battle, and Garreg Mach almost feels like a home again.

The reinforcements from the capital have long arrived, and there is near-constant repair being done to bring the monastery back to it’s previous state, before it was decimated by your forces. A mistake on your side, perhaps, to damage a place you had come to hold so dear, but it was simply what had to be done to deliver the message you intended. And you believe you’re more than making up for it by using your own forces to return it to its former glory.

The dining hall is lively again at all times of the day. It’s the Harpstring Moon, and people gather in the gardens to soak up the sun after a wet spring. 

The Church has taken refuge in Faerghus, and while conflict between you has been on a near-monthly basis, you’re winning almost every battle you set out to, and Empire forces are slowly but surely taking hold of Kingdom Territory.

It’s working.

You should be happy.

You-

You think of her a lot.

You know Hubert can tell. He looks at you differently when your mind begins to wander into those territories. You appreciate him all the more for never bringing it up.

_Dorothea._

You think of her every time you plan attack on another city. What if she’s waiting there? 

Waiting for you? Or dreading you?

There's Dorothea, living a quiet, peaceful life in your mind, until you trample in and destroy everything she’s begun to set up for herself. Or Dorothea as a member of the Faerghus military, cursing your name and plotting against your every move. You know she’s clever enough for it.

Maybe she’s in the Alliance. She always did get along well with the Deer.

You don’t believe in the goddess, but every night before battle, you can’t hold back a silent prayer for her be elsewhere. If there is any greater power, you know you have already spat on their name enough times by now that they’d likely rather punish you than heed any hopes you may have sent up to them. But you have to try. 

You have to try. 

Your bed feels too vast at times. 

You still think of her. 

————

Two years since the battle. 

You suffered a grave hit at the last scuffle you led between you and Faerghus, realizing too late that they had called upon the Alliance for backup. 

Mercedes cares for you personally in the infirmary. You watch her bustle around, barking off orders to her subordinates, and you note, just as the pain is taking over and the world is fading to black, that she seems to have found her place here with the Empire.

The healing spells she casts over you bring you in and out of consciousness, through realities that may or may not exist. 

Most of the time Hubert is next to you. You think this scene is real. Most of the time he’s silent, eyes like a hawk over the rest of the infirmary, arms crossed. He probably wishes you were being treated in your own quarters but you insisted on being here, to ease Mercedes’ stress from running back and forth. 

Ferdinand joins the two of you often as well. His energy, usually taking form in pomposity and obliviousness, has forced him into pacing back and forth in front of your bed. You can’t make our the words the two of them share but you’re sure they’re speaking about you.

…Sometimes. Sometimes she is there.

Emerald eyes, brown locks. 

You know this one must be delusion. For one, she is always in her old school uniform. gold and black regalia you haven’t set eyes on in years. And when she’s with you, the room is empty. Just the two of you.

She holds your hand and strokes your hair, kneeling beside your bed, and you somehow know you can’t look at her directly or the dream will disappear. 

She’ll whisper to you, and while you can never make out what she’s saying, you can feel the emotion behind them, and for you, that’s enough.

When you’re well enough to stand on your own two feet, you’re shocked to learn you’d been confined to the bed for over a week. A leader should never show such weakness, and you almost feel shame walking into the next Strike Force meeting, though your friends and allies find no reason to hide their relief that you’re alright.

Sometimes, during late nights at your desk in the weeks after, you replay those dreams in your head. But every time they’re a little fuzzier, a little less distinct. Until one day, you can’t remember them at all.

————

Three years since the battle, and you’ve been wrestling with your thoughts again.

Last month, your forces were overjoyed to discover Petra working with a small resistance force in the Leicester Alliance, which is now allied with the Kingdom, and without hesitation this time she returned to the monastery to join you. You missed the girl more dearly than you had realized, and it was a joy to reconnect after so many years, on her own accord this time.

Is it strange compulsion, so many years later, that you still wonder about where _she_ is?

Is something wrong with you? The world on your shoulders and yet you still allow yourself this fantasy?

You do something rash, when you call in Hubert to your private quarters one day. A short, awkward conversation, and he understands. He leaves to put together a small task force, to be sent out in the morning to locate one Dorothea Arnault.

The weeks go by, and turn into months. 

You hold your breath each morning as Hubert gives you his list of updates.

They never find her.

————

Four years since the battle at Garreg Mach. 

Your academy days seem more like a dream than a memory now. Had you really ever been so carefree? Who allowed to you to relish in those joys of life?

The victories pile up, too many to count. The world is changing in your vision, ever so slightly each day.

You spend most days moving directly from strategy meetings back to your chambers. Hubert, Ferdinand, and Lysithea take most of the lead in battle lately. You know it's no way to lead, but most days, spending time with them feels like swallowing glass. At least in solitude you can tell yourself everything is fine.

The world is so big and your name echoes bigger, and yet you yourself are so, so small.

You’re achieving everything you ever yearned for, and yet you still feel like something’s missing within you. As if a vital piece of you has been stolen and locked away.

They all see you as the never-yielding Emperor, the one who is guiding the world to a new dawn. And you are proud of that image you have so meticulously cultivated. But what you would give for _one_ person to see you as you are. Not as the Flame Emperor. As simply... Edelgard.

To see you as Edelgard, alone and weak in your chambers, and still choose to stay.

Who is Edelgard. Who _was_ Edelgard? Does she even exist anymore?

What is it that you want anymore?

————

Five years after the battle at Garreg Mach.

You wake up in a start, catching your breath as you sit up straight in bed. The dawn has started to peak through the windows. You’ve been both dreading and anticipating this day all month.  The morning of the Millennium Festival.

You thank your past self for leaving the window open last night, as you close your eyes, and soak in the rays of the newly born sun.

_*BANG*_

_*BANG*_

_*BANG BANG BANG*_

You’re suddenly reminded of what startled you awake in the first place.

“Come in, Hubert.”

And so he bursts through the door and the energy of the world seems to shift. 

He’s in a frazzled state you don’t think you’ve ever seen him in in years, standing there for several moments, eyes wide, staring at you. A... loss for words?

“Lady Edelgard. There. There is-”

He stops and closes his eyes, taking a breath to regain his composure.

“We had a... visitor arrive last night. I told her to wait where she was in the old Cathedral, I found her there praying while making my rounds. Lady Edelgard, I don’t mean to insist, but I do believe you will want to s-”

That look in his eyes.

No.

It can’t be.

And suddenly, after a long, long time, your body has taken hold back over your mind. You rip off your bedsheets, and dash out of the room, barefoot in your nightgown. 

Racing through the hall, down the stairs. 

You’re not even thinking about who could possibly see you in this state, normally refusing to be in anything other than full military garb in public.

Across the bridge, wind racing through your unbrushed hair.

It can’t be who you want it to be. 

Why would it be? 

Why now, after all this time? 

Why here?

Into the cathedral, your head whips wildly around, trying to spot the mysterious guest until-

Until you see her.

In the front pew sits an orphan.


	3. Chapter 3

You made the very concious decision not to believe in ghosts a long time ago.

You can appreciate a good ghost story for being exactly that, but spirits themselves were not something that could ever fit into the framework of the world you understood.

The soul of someone dear that had departed to soon, bound to the mortal realm by things left undone, things left unsaid? If such a thing existed… where were your ghosts? You had more than enough people snatched away from you in your time, people a young girl should never be forced to go without. 

Your mother, father, brothers and sisters. Aunts and uncles. Family, friends.

If one _could_ be haunted by those who had passed, where were _they_?

No, such a thing could never exist. You knew that fact to be true, through and through, and would accept no other explanation. 

And yet. In the front pew, a ghost is watching you.

It’s the only explanation.

Her hair is longer now. Her face fuller, too.

She’s clothed in a sea of burgundy, black, and silver; you never realized the former was her colour. 

The two of you stare at each other, the silence ringing in your ears, and while you feel your gaze boring into her with the intensity of a thousand suns, you feel nothing coming from her eyes though back they stare, unwilling to accept them as the real thing. As if the scene laid in front of you was a painting hung in the middle of the cathedral, the girl a mere drawing rather than a reality you’re witnessing. 

Neither of you speak as the seconds tick by, though the expression she wears on her face betrays her. She was not sure of coming back, was she? What does your expression say about you? The emotions running through you are too vast, to complex to be revealed by a single look, aren’t they?

She opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Hubert bursts into the hall, stopping at the entrance. He takes a moment, leaning over, hands on knees, to catch his breath.

Quite out of shape for a general, isn’t he? Far too reliant on all that magic of his, you think. 

And then he’s approaching the two of you, and you realize he’s been talking since he enters.  


“…Lady Edelgard, if you had let me finish explaining in your chambers, I believe it would have been more beneficial for both parties to have been informed, rather than the shock this must have put into your system this early in the day. Additionally, I do not believe it is befitting for someone of your caliber to be seen in public the way you are dressed now, please, if you’ll come with me; thankfully I don’t believe anyone saw you on your way down-”

And suddenly his arm is gently holding your shoulder and he’s whisking you away, and you let him, unable to do or say _anything_ with the way your mind is still free-falling through six years worth of memories, of yearning.

You can feel her eyes on you now, though, as you are escorted out of the cathedral. Hot on the back of your neck, almost like a hand holding on for dear life.

————

Hubert stays with you as you get dressed and ready, bringing breakfast to your chambers like any other morning.

He’s more frazzled than usual, filling in the gaps of your silence with his own chatter, a strange, mother hen display from him that you don’t see often. The last time he acted this way must have been when you were put in the infirmary a couple years ago.

Is he… that concerned for you?

You open your mouth finally to ask where… _she…_ has gone but before you can even start your sentence, he’s guiding you to the Strategy Room, determined to keep to your normal schedule for the day, though your world has just fallen on its head, still prattling on about the Millennium Festival preparations, and the plans for the attack on the Alliance next moon, and-

He's trying to distract you.

The woman you have spent five years searching for, agonizing over to the point of near-obsession has turned up at your doorstep and yet he, your most loyal ally, is trying to pull your attention elsewhere. You feel as if you should be angry, but… it’s Hubert. If he’s concerned, there must be a reason, right? Who else has your best interests alone at heart?

You’re the emperor, anyway. People show up seeking refuge at Garreg Mach every day. What kind of a leader would you be to drop everything because of one?

Felix, Petra and Ferdinand finally make their way in, and you pull yourself together enough to commence the strategy meeting. You tell them nothing of the dawn’s surprise visitor, lest you lose your ability to speak again.

Immediately after, you return to your chambers, and spend the rest of the daylight hours shivering in casual dress, instructing Hubert to take the lead on the rest of the preparations for that evening.

This is not you. This shell you are right now, this is not the person you know yourself to be, this is _not_ the Emperor of Adrestia. Is it anxiety that has taken over? Anticipation? Guilt? Fear? Your mind spins for hours as you pace, and stare at your ceiling, avoiding the view from your window for fear of seeing her walking by.

Dorothea has returned to Garreg Mach.

If your thoughts go any further than that, you feel as if you might faint.

You can’t avoid her forever, you know that. But for now, you need to ride this out.

Gods, have you always been this small?

Before you can even process an ounce of what’s flying through your skull, you realize it’s dark out, and Hubert is back. He’s got you up, and he’s dressing you in the formal attire you’d forgot was even sitting in the back of your closet, putting your hair up in a complex, braided updo while instructing you to begin on your makeup.

You’re going to attend the Millennium Festival.

————

It is not often that there are grounds for celebration these days.

Yes, the war is continuing strong in your favour, but war is war, and while holidays are celebrated on a small-scale, it has mostly seemed inappropriate in tone to go bigger than that. 

But today is different. Yes, the monastery initially belonged to your enemy, but Garreg Mach has become a more than just a base for the Strike Force in the last five years. It’s a place for all those who share your vision to congregate, a refuge for anyone in need. It’s become even more of a political centre for the Empire than the capital at this point. It only makes sense to celebrate 1000 years of it standing. In fact, it was Manuela’s idea to move forward with the festival in the first place, promising it would be just what was needed for everyone’s spirits to lift up and finish this war once and for all.

As you and Hubert walk through the stalls and decorations set up in the gardens, you’re surprised by how far everyone has gone to make it a truly special occasion. The last time the monastery looked like this must have been the winter ball, back in your academy days.

Exactly half your brain right now is dedicated to putting on a smile for your people, and the other half hyper aware of every person moving in and out of your surroundings. 

Dorothea _must_ be here. If she’s anything like the girl you once knew, you know she’d never pass up the opportunity to dress up for a celebration. 

“Your Highness! Hubert, Edelgard!” You hear a loud voice calling behind you, and you both turn to come face-to-face with Ferdinand. You heart stops and sinks into your stomach as you wonder if he’s seen her yet. He’d never be able to keep his mouth shut, and the two of them always did have a… strange dynamic.

“Look around at the joy in everyone’s faces tonight, what a festival! Have you been to the ballroom yet? My gods, the string quartet I hired is just _sublime_.” A guffaw, as he slaps your companion hard on the back. “Oh, old Hubert didn’t have you thinking he pulled this together on his own, did he? Why of course, a festival like this requires the touch of a _true_ noble; say, Hubert, are you going to be stuck to Edelgard’s hip all evening? Why don’t you come along with me for a dance? I swear to you, I am _highly_ trained, no toes will be stepped on in my presence! I…” 

Before you know it, Hubert is being dragged away, throwing a pleading glance back at you, but you wave for him to go. You can’t lie, you’re nervous to be on your own tonight, but he deserves one night of break after everything he does for you every day.

You feel yourself slightly energized from the energy of the festival anyway. If you run into Dorothea, so be it. You are the Emperor of the Adrestian Empire. You’ve faced war, revolution, certain death without any hesitation or look back. You can face one _girl._

Your gaze is fixed on the lit-up stall selling salted fish in front of you as these thoughts float through your mind. You’ll be fine, you’ll see her, you’ll talk, maybe catch up if she’s interested, and if she’s not, well that _has_ to be oka-

Suddenly, you feel a hot breath on the back of your neck as someone leans into your ear.

“Our Ferdie’s still exactly the same, isn’t he?”

You swear in that moment you jump clean out of your skin. 

You take a moment to mentally prepare yourself before turning around and meeting those green eyes head-on.

“I almost wanted to chase after him and say hello, but I figure I’ll let him have fun on his little date before I bother him too much. Oh, him and Hubie, I always knew there was something there!”

She’s standing, hip cocked, about two feet away from you in the same burgundy and black outfit from this morning as you stand, tall as you can in your formal attire as every emotion you’d been suppressing comes flooding back.

The two of you, face-to-face in the cathedral that morning, you barefoot in your nightgown.

Face-to-face on the snowy bridge all those years ago.

Face-to-face at the Officer’s Academy ball, hand-in-hand.

Face-to-face in Dorothea’s room that night, chest-to-chest, mouth on m-

You’ve been staring too long. Get something, anything out.

“…Dorothea.”

She smiles back at you- you can’t tell if it’s genuine, or defensive. She opens her mouth to greet you back but hesitates, and your heart sinks as you realize that she doesn’t know what to call you.

“Your highness.”

No. Gods, no. Is it better to have her back at all if it’s going to be like this? But would you even have been able to handle it if she had hit you with an ‘Edie’?

“My name is fine. No need for those formalities.” You hear yourself responding, yet can’t feel the words coming out of your own mouth.

She holds out an arm. “Walk with me, Edelgard?”

You nod, swallowing as you take her arm within your hands, and a spark of electricity shoots through you like lightning. How much contact would it take to kill you?

An uncomfortable silence as she leads you down the rows of lanterns, as neither of you are sure what to say first. Or what even _can_ be said at this point.

Where were you, Dorothea? Why did you leave, all those years ago? And why are you back now? Are you okay? Have you been on your own? Do you love me, Dorothea? Do I love you? Do I _know_ you?

“I’m… sorry if I spooked you this morning. I arrived earlier than expected, I told Hubert not to wake you up.”

“You didn’t want to see me?”

A nervous laugh. “Of course not. But can you blame me for being anxious?”

You feel your grip tighten around her upper arm as she continues.

“I’ve heard so many stories about you. About the incredible leader you’ve become. I wondered if you’d even want to see me after all this time.”

“Nonsense.” The words escapes your mouth before you can even think.

“Maybe so. But I didn’t know. I still don’t know. I can’t lie to you very easily, I… I’m not entirely confident of coming back here in the first place.”

You stop walking suddenly, gaze still pointed forward, away from hers. “Where were you, Dorothea?”

She responds with an uneasy silence, and you feel you have obligation to continue pressing.

“Where have you been all these years? As the Emperor, I have a right to know the kind of people I’m allowing into my base.”

“You think I’m… what, a spy? Edie, please, you know me better than that-”

Anger flashes in the pit of your stomach at that name, and you drop your hands to your sides, still not making eye-contact.

“I cannot rely on nostalgia and old friendships when it comes to the safety of my base. 

You finally turn to look at her and you’re surprised to see a calculating look in her eyes, as she determines the weight of her privacy to her.

“If I tell you, will you join me for a dance?”

“I don’t play these games, Dorothea.”

The smile leaves her face for good now. “Fine. I was in the south for a while, near Fodlan’s Fangs. The past few years I have spent in the Leicester Alliance, near the Eastern Church. I have no affiliation with any foreign power. I’d rather enjoy my evening here, now.”

You understand that’s all the information you’ll be getting out of her today, and it’s your call on whether to let it go, or to press her out of your own resentment.

Instead of settling on either, you come to the conclusion to follow her to the ballroom and dance instead, to ignore the stares that track you as the two of you waltz your way around the room, tense and quiet, and yet all too eager.

As the fifth song comes to an end, the absurdity of the situation catches up to you, and you leave her with a nod farewell, retiring alone to your chambers while the festival thunders on for hours to come. You can only hope Hubert doesn’t notice the tear stains on your pillowcase the next morning.

But it’s not him who brings up your breakfast when the day breaks.

Instead, you wake to the smell of tea and pastries, and Dorothea Arnault haunting your chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED TO ADD: I'm sorry, I probably won't be updating this fic past this point I've realized! Maybe will write a couple Edelthea one-shots someday, but the second-person style got kind of hard to maintain and I kind of got bored while writing this chapter anyway lol. And the lack of planning kinda caught up with me. So yeah. Will likely abandoning this one from here on out :/ (5% chance I'll come back to it one day? We'll see!)


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